Another Song, Another Shot
by StMomo
Summary: Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent." Victor Hugo -A series of song-fics for Katekyo Hitman Reborn, focusing on various characters-
1. Shot One: Mukuro

_A/N: Yes, another new series. This one is exclusively for KHR this time and will be a collection of song-fics ranging from drabbles to one-shots. As I've already decided upon all the songs I'll be doing, I won't be taking requests on this one. Also, if you do not know a song or simply know and would like to have the song, I've uploaded all the songs I'll be using onto my mediafire. They can be found at mediafire*com/?sharekey=01733de13294a4d81bee9a6e9edd9c769dfd0ee1fe1b9007d8c7c6998cb4ca21. Please remember to change the star into a dot if you use the link. Please note that I do not own anything besides this story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn is property of Amano Akira; Doll On A Music Box/Truly Scrumptious is from the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Soundtrack and is property of it's respective owners._

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**SHOT ONE: DOLL ON A MUSIC BOX/TRULY SCRUMPTIOUS {MUKURO ROKUDOU}**

_You see a doll on a music box  
That's wound by a key  
How can you tell  
I'm under a spell  
I'm waiting for love's first kiss_

You walked lazily into your room, near exhausted from the party that your boss had insisted that you escort him to. As Vongola Decimo's diplomat and secretary, you were often forced to do stupid duties like that. Sighing, you reached up to unclip the heavy, dangly earrings that you had chosen to wear simply because they had looked perfect with your dress. Now though, nobody was here to see it and you were so glad to get them off.

You crossed your small bedroom in a couple strides, heading straight for the dresser. Actually, to be precise, you were heading for the jewelry box on top of the dresser. Touching the lid softly, gently, you smiled down at the small wooden box for a second. You remembered when you had first gotten this jewelry box; the tiny, plain wooden box that your grandmother had given you as a birthday present when you were six. You hadn't really liked the gift. At least, you hadn't liked it until she reached over and opened the lid, sending the first notes of a haunting, sad song floating out into the air. You looked in, barely breathing, at the beautifully crafted porcelain woman turning around and around inside of it.

You remembered staring at it in awe as your grandmother chuckled, bending down to gently stroke the dancing woman. "Would you like to hear the story of this music box, (y/n)?" your grandmother had asked in her hoarse, croaky old lady's voice. You just grinned, giggling before climbing up into her lap. You'd always loved when Grandma told you stories. She was so much better at telling them than anyone else you knew. She never made them boring or too long.

Cuddling you to her, she picked up the music box in her hands, already gnarled and twisted then by the arthritis that had plagued her for much of her life. Staring at the little woman, your grandmother began.

"Once, (y/n), there was a beautiful woman. Her name was Francesca Marcello and she was one of the most beautiful women in all of Italy. She was admired by a lot of men, but she only had eyes for one. He was handsome and charming and he loved her just as much as she loved him. But she was of noble birth and him; he was just a poor boy who worked at the blacksmith's. But they met in secret for many months until one day, the most terrible news came. Francesca's father had arranged for her to be married. The young lovers were, of course, most upset."

"But Grandma!" you'd interrupted in your childish way. "Why didn't they just tell everyone that they loved each other? I mean, Mommy and Daddy say it all the time and I love telling people how much I love them!"

Grandma had just sighed, a small smile, a sad smile, flitting across her lips. "Oh honey, sometimes it's not as easy as that. Back then, a person with a lot of money couldn't love someone with less money than them. And a person with no money couldn't love someone with a lot of money. It was considered wrong back then. Theirs was a love that couldn't exist."

"But Grandma, how can love be wrong?" you asked, not understanding then, hopelessly naive.

Grandma had looked really sad then and when she spoke next; her voice was barely above a whisper. "I was in love once. A man named Demon Spade. He was so beautiful and I loved him."

You'd been confused then, looking up at your Grandma, who was staring off into space, her mind somewhere else, locked up in memories. You didn't get it; your grandfather's name had been Ivan, not Demon Spade. You didn't know what to say, what to do. Grandma didn't look right and she was scaring you a bit, so you'd done the only thing you'd been able to think of and called her name.

"Grandma?"

Grandma had seemed to snap back then, her eyes focusing on you. But she was looking at you so odd and her next words confused you, her behavior scaring you.

"Sometimes, people get chained up by life. They chain themselves up with useless rules and stop living. They chain themselves up to love and die. You don't ever let yourself be chained (y/n). Never. You love and you love proudly. And you don't ever let no man chain you to the point where you can't live without him." Grandma's hands had tightened around you, hurting you and you whimpered.

"Grandma, tell me what happened to the girl!" you cried out, just wanting to get back to the story, to have Grandma acting normal again. And this seemed to do it, because Grandma's hands had loosened up and that fierce look had faded.

"Well, Francesca couldn't stand the thought of marrying another when her heart belonged to Pablo, her handsome blacksmith. So the lovers made a plan. They sought out the help of a witch who lived just out of town. They crept to her house late one night, trying to remain unseen. But someone did see them. The Duke that Francesca was to be wed to witnessed them sneaking off together and followed them to the witch's house. He watched as the lovers asked the witch to make it so that they could always be together.

And the witch did. She gathered a box that was lying on her dresser and sealed Francesca in it, a little woman dancing around and around. She told Pablo that for Francesca to be freed from the box she only had to be kissed by her true love. Pablo was overjoyed. He'd keep the box hidden and safe while he stole out of the city and when everyone thought that Francesca was missing or gone, when he was safe in another town, he'd kiss the little dancer and have his love back. Thanking the witch, he gathered the box to him and set off back towards the town.

But on his way back, the wicked duke overtook him and beat him into unconsciousness before stealing the box. The wicked duke tried kissing the doll in the box, but nothing happened. Convinced that if he couldn't have Francesca, no one could, the Duke hid the box deep in the catacombs under Venice. Pablo spent years trying to find the box and failing. Though he eventually married and had children, the thought of his first and truest love was always there and he never gave up the search. On his death bed, he commanded his oldest son to find the box.

But the son failed too and so the duty of finding the box passed down to his son and so on, down the generations."

You looked up at Grandma, thinking over the story.

"But Grandma, if they couldn't find the box, how did you?"

Grandma laughed then, a sad laugh as she closed the top of the music box. "I didn't. He gave it to me. Demon Spade. I don't know how he found it though."

You drew yourself out of the memories, sighing deeply. You'd lost your naiveté somewhere along the way and that story no longer thrilled you as it had when you were a child. Because now you knew only too well the concept of forbidden love.

You flipped up the lid of the jewelry box angrily, throwing your earrings in while trying to keep your eyes on anything but the tiny dancing figure inside. But, as always, your eyes always found their way too it. But tonight, it was different, the dancing figure different. Because tonight, it was not the beautiful Francesca doll you saw dancing in slow, graceful circles, but a doll that looked exactly like you. A doll accompanied by another, a man's hands on her waist, joining her in the slow tragic dance. A man who looked like…

"Mukuro," you breathed out, watching the couple dance, looking at each other with loving faces. Tears welled up in your eyes as you slammed the top to the box closed on his illusion, choking back a sob. How often would he do this to you? Remind you of what you could never have?

You knew all too well what it was like to be chained now. What it was like to love a forbidden love, a love that the world and your family wouldn't let you have. A love that was wrong. And you knew what it was like to be separated from your love, the one that was locked far beneath the earth, the one who could only come to you in dreams or illusions. And your grandmother had been dead for many a year now, but you had to wonder if she'd be as ashamed of you as you were.

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I couldn't keep the chains off," you whispered into the empty room.


	2. Shot Two: Yamamoto

_A/N: I've been trying to work on my 'fluff' skills lately, so I'd appreciate any criticisms are far as this shot goes. As someone who isn't a 'fluff' writer or a romantic person by nature, I'd love to know how I'm doing and how I can improve. Again, I own nothing but this story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn is property of Amano Akira and Sunday Mornings is property of Maroon Five.  
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_**SHOT TWO: SUNDAY MORNINGS** **{YAMAMOTO TAKESHI}**_  
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_Sunday morning rain is falling  
Steal some covers share some skin  
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable  
You twist to fit the mold that I am in  
_

The chirping of birds roused you from your slumber, the room basked in sunlight as it streamed in through the cracks in the blinds. His warmth surrounded you, one of his arms draped over your waist while you could feel his other hand smoothing your hair away from your face. You squirmed, cuddling closer into him, breathing in his scent as your eyes cracked open, peering up at him. His rich brown eyes met yours, his hand never stopping the stroking of your hair as he looked down at you, a soft smile on his face, the same one that, even after all these years, always made you feel happy. An answering smile crept onto your face as you sleepily mumbled out your words, the traditional morning greeting.

"Morning Takeshi."

He chuckled lightly. "It's afternoon actually. You slept late again."

"Ah sorry."

Resting his chin on your head, his other arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him. The two of you laid there in silence for several moments, just enjoying being together like this, listening to the drum of the rain falling down. You smiled, chuckling a little. "Hmm, I don't think we're going to be going on that picnic we planned today."

He laughed, a nice, deep laugh and you felt it reverberate through his chest as he cuddled closer to you still, each beat of his laughter seeming to merge in time with your heartbeat. "That's okay," he mumbled, laying a soft kiss on your head, "I'm just fine right here."


	3. Shot Three: Xanxus

_A/N: I own nothing but the story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn and all related characters belong to Amano Akira and the song Face Down is property of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus._

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**SHOT THREE: FACE DOWN {XANXUS}**

_I see the way you go and  
say your right again,  
say your right again  
heed my lecture_

The sound of the water running in the sink mixed and mingled with the ringing in your ears as you stood, holding the edges of the sink for support. You didn't need to look in the mirror to know what you looked like, didn't want to look in the mirror. But isn't it funny that the things we want most to not see are the things we're drawn to watch, you mused, as you lifted your eyes up to study your reflection. Your left eye was bruised and black, swollen shut already. Your cheek was also bruised and your lip was split open. Though it left no visible mark, your head was pounding and there was a buzzing in your ears and there was no doubt in your mind that you had a concussion. You grimaced as a wave of pain rolled over you from the various sore spots on your body. You also knew, from a long run of experience, that one or two of your ribs were also broken. You knew that you'd be staying in your room for the next little while, waiting until the injuries were faded enough to cover with makeup. And you didn't even think about a doctor. You'd learned a long time ago that doctors were out of the question.

You didn't know what you had done to make him so mad this time, but you knew it had been your fault. It always was. You were just worthless dirt and so stupid. You had to wonder, often in fact, why Xanxus even put up with you. Groaning, you staggered, swaying slightly, out of your bathroom and into your bedroom. The sight of the half-packed suitcase on the bed drew your eyes and you collapsed on the floor beside the bed, resting against the bed as you sank down on the floor, your knees having finally grown tired of supporting your wounded body. You knew people wondered why you stayed, but if asked directly, you didn't think you'd know what to say.

It might have been because you were scared that you'd never find anyone else who would want you, that he was the best you could do. Scratch that, you knew that he was the best you could do. Hadn't he said it in plenty of different ways? You were ugly and unattractive and a lousy fuck. That was why he needed all those whores he hired, flaunting your lack of sexual appeal in your face. That was why he'd finish up as quickly as possible when sleeping with you, never looking you in the eyes while he had his way with you. You were stupid and boring and he made sure you knew it. That you knew that you were a lousy excuse for a human being and how lucky you were that he'd ever chosen you. After all, he was an amazing looking man and so intelligent and strong. Anyone should feel lucky to have him and you did. Even if he hit you, you still loved him. He was only hitting you because you deserved it, because you needed a firm hand in learning.

But you knew that wasn't why you stayed. Though you loved him, if it had been only love, you could have left. No, you thought, staring at the suitcase that you knew you'd only unpack later as you had many times before, it was fear that kept you there. Because Xanxus terrified you. You knew that if you left, he would track you down. And you knew that when he found you, when he lifted his hand to you the next time, it wouldn't be like it was now, where he was simply teaching you a lesson, reminding you that he was your god and that he was right and good and everything. When he lifted his hand to you then, he'd kill you.


	4. Shot Four: Mammon

_A/N: I own nothing but this story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters are property of Amano Akira. Danny Boy is property of its respective owner._

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**SHOT FOUR: DANNY BOY {MAMMON/VIPER}**

_And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me  
And all my grave will warm and sweeter be  
For you will bend and tell me that you love me  
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.  
_

A leaf fell off a tree and floated down past him. The time when the trees had been ablaze with oranges and reds and yellows was past and now all the leaves were a sickly brown, decaying and dropping from the branches like drops of blood running from a shallow wound. How fitting an image too, he thought, of blood and of the trees dying. It fit with his somber mood and the whole cloying atmosphere. His footsteps crunched over fallen leaves and brittle twigs as he wound the all-too-familiar path into the wood.

Very few people knew about this place. There had been him…and her. But she no longer knew anything, did she? It was isolated, in the middle of the thick wood but there was a spot, miraculous and amazing, where you could see the whole of the valley from the top of a cliff. He'd never really appreciated it, not being the romantic kind of sap that would think about things like beauty and views. But you had loved it, he remembered as he wound his way up the steep incline to the cliff. You'd ooh-ed and ahh-ed over it when he'd taken you up there. He also remembered that was the night you first kissed him.

It had been your meeting place for years after that. Whenever he was in town, he'd send a letter ahead and you would meet him there for a couple hours, sitting on the edge of the cliff and talking for hours, sweet caresses and hot kisses passing between the two of you. It was where you had told him you loved him and he remembered how he hadn't been able to say the words back though he knew he had felt them and felt them still. It was where you had offered yourself to him and he'd become the one and only lover you'd ever had.

But that was all in the past. He'd always had to leave you, sometimes for months at a time. He was Viper back then and he was in great demand. He crested the top of the hill, finally arriving at your place. But its scenery was marred now by the tiny grave centered a few feet from the cliff's edge. It was to this that he now visited. Because he had always come back to you, hadn't he?

And he stood by the grave for a while, the minutes slipping by as he lost himself in all the memories this place held. Maybe that was why he'd chosen to bury you here instead of in a cemetery like your family had planned to do. It had been difficult stealing your body but he couldn't stand the thought of you not being here, where you'd always be for him. And he looked at the grave before turning back; kneeling slightly to whisper those words you'd waited so long for. "I loved you. As Viper. And as Mammon." And it sounded weird, coming out, for you wouldn't know who Mammon was, would you? At least that was one thing he thanked the universe for. At least you hadn't had to see him like this.

Turning away, he started his walk back, his last words trailing back through the frosty November air. "But you cost me a lot of money coming here. You'll have to pay it all back someday. I'm keeping a tab."


	5. Shot Five: Basil

_A/N: I own only this story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn is property of Amano Akira and the song 3 A.M. is property of Matchbox Twenty._

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**SHOT FIVE: 3 A.M. {BASIL}**

_She says baby  
It's 3 am I must be lonely  
When she says baby  
Well I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes  
Says the rain's gonna wash away I believe it  
_

And Basil walked through the streets towards home, your prescription clutched in a little white bag in one hand, the black umbrella in the other as the rain pelted down around him, bouncing off the tarred surface as it pounded the asphalt. He remembered how, when he'd been preparing to set off into the early evening, you'd halted him, giving him the umbrella. "It's raining out Basil. Here. Take this. I don't want you to get sick after all!" you had said, giving him one of your rare smiles that managed to take his breath away. You'd always worried about him like that, fussing and coddling him and he couldn't say that it didn't touch him in some way. He knew you loved him and that was just one of your little ways of showing it.

He listened to the rain as it came down and thought of you. You hadn't been sleeping well lately and he hoped you'd finally lain down to sleep. After all, you had always said that the rain helped lull you to sleep. And God only knew that you needed that sleep. You'd been up for a full four days now, just another sign of your slowly deteriorating condition.

His gaze drifted down to the white package he was carrying and he sighed. He knew that when it came down to it, the pills helped. He thought then about how he'd have to hide it in your food or your drink, how he'd have to sneak it to you without you knowing, like he'd had to for much of the past several years. You'd decided almost a year ago that people were trying to poison you and you never ate or drank anything that didn't come from him. Through it all, he'd been the only one you would trust. Ironic how he was the one poisoning you in his own little way. And he remembered how, when getting your prescription written up and filled by your regular doctor, he'd once again gently hinted that maybe it was time to send you to a 'facility', a place where you could be around 'others like you'.

But mostly he just remembered, because that was all he had left now. He remembered how the two of you had started dating when he was fifteen. He'd never even wanted to date anybody else and never had. You were more than enough for him. He was seventeen when he realized he loved you. Six months later, he'd finally gotten up the nerve to tell you so. And it was a year after that that your symptoms had first started appearing. It had shocked him and scared him, but he'd stayed. Come hell and high water, he'd stayed.

He remembered how you'd willingly accepted the treatment at first and how it had become better. You had gotten married at twenty-one and hey, look, ten years later and you two were still married. And he remembered how you had refused to have children since it was widely known that schizophrenia was passed down genetically. That had been okay with him though. He knew that they could always foster later on in life and even if they didn't, he had you and that was all he really needed. And you two had had some really amazing years, better than any he'd ever known or would ever know again.

But he also remembered how nearly three years ago, you'd just started to refuse to take your medication, no matter how much he pleaded and begged, no matter how angry he got. And he remembered again of how you'd stopped eating and drinking things from other people because they were poisoned, and how you'd stopped talking to your friends and family because they were part of the big THEM and THEY were after you, out to get you. He remembered how you'd started refusing to leave the house period and of how you locked yourself in at all times, sure that THEY were always around, always following you, were spying on you. He remembered how you'd shut off the electricity and covered all the outlets in foil because THEY were sending in waves through the wires along with the electricity so THEY could read your mind. He remembered how you'd started refusing to have marital relations with him because THEY were watching. And he remembered the suicide attempts and how he'd been horrified and terrified that he might lose you; he remembered how you got sometimes, sitting on the floor rocking back and forth and screaming, clutching your head as if to get rid of the voices in there.

He wondered, as he sometimes did, whether he should have you committed before becoming immediately disgusted with himself. Because he also remembered all the times when you seemed to suddenly come back to him, all smiles and laughter and affection. Of how at those times, it was just like it used to be, perfection again for a few hours. But those times were becoming rarer and he couldn't help but wonder, a few tears slipping out, well-disguised by the rain, when you'd just stop coming to him, when the disease would claim the last little bit of you that it hadn't already stolen from him, when it would steal the last piece of you and leave him totally alone.


	6. Shot Six: Mukuro

_A/N: I own nothing but this story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn is property of Akira Amano and Tears In Heaven is property of Eric Clapton._

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**SHOT SIX: TEARS IN HEAVEN {MUKURO}  
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_Beyond the door  
There's peace I'm sure.  
And I know there'll be no more...  
Tears in heaven_

You were stretched out on the bed, various medical machines hooked up to you. I.V. tubes fed into your arm, a catheter ran from your body to the end of the bed, EKG's monitored your brain waves; an oxygen mask was over your face, helping you take the breaths you were just unwilling to take. You'd know none of this though. You were completely unaware of your body, unaware of what was happening around you. You didn't notice the various family members as they came and left your room, all of them looking tired and worn-down. You showed no signs of being aware of your boss as he sat beside your hospital bed in the same chair he'd been occupying now every day for the past month. You didn't respond when he touched you or talked to you.

You'd been in that coma now for nearly a month in a state the doctors called vegetative. You'd sustained so much damage during that battle and when you'd passed out near the end of it, you'd just never woken back up. That battle…it had been so hard, so violent and bloody and though the Vongola had won, there was no celebration, no triumph felt. They'd lost too many, too many corpses had littered the ground and countless friends, lovers; comrades were in hospital beds, critically wounded. They'd lost too much, lost too many. Tsuna had watched his men fall around him, had been forced to watch the one man they'd all considered infallible, the one man they'd all considered immortal fall underneath an onslaught of enemies too great for even him to handle. And now Mukuro Rokudou was dead, just another rotting corpse in the ground and the Vongola were shaken, weakened with the immense grief that battle had left them with. Though beaten, it seemed the enemy really had gotten what they'd gone for. The Vongola family was broken.

And wasn't he staring at the proof of that right now? Wasn't the proof in the sight of you lying in that bed, looking so peaceful? You hadn't given any signs of waking up and the doctors weren't at all hopeful. You showed no response to stimuli, you had no clue of what was going on around you. No, you'd fallen deep and you weren't coming out of it.

No, you lived in your mind only now, that dark, circular room you huddled in now. It was so dark all around you. You knew you were dying. With your life, you knew you were going to go to hell. But was this hell, this constant darkness, the chill of this impenetrable fortress? There were no doors, no windows, and no light. There was just the dark and you. You'd been able to find no way out of here, screaming and crying had gotten you nowhere. It seemed like you'd been in there forever and you were all out of tears, all out of emotions. You sat in what you figured what the center of the room, huddled in on yourself, staring blankly straight ahead into the dark, unresponsive.

It was the light that caused you to finally respond, the light flooding in around a door you knew had not been there before. But it was there now, bathed in a soothing light. You stood and made your way to it. You knew not where it led, to death, to hell or heaven, but you didn't care one way or the other. You just wanted out of that darkness that had engulfed you, the darkness that ate away at you.

Your hand gripped the doorknob and pulling it open, the most beautiful sight filled your eyes. You stepped forward into the grassy meadow, a warm breeze blowing around you. You felt no pain anymore and looking down, you saw that though you had been injured in the battle, the last thing you remembered, you were whole now, unblemished. Instead of the hospital gown you'd be wearing a light sundress floated around you, moving slightly with the breeze. The sky around you was a clear blue and butterflies danced in the air, fragrant with the scent of the flowers and blooming sakura trees that filled this place. You'd arrived in heaven, you thought.

But strangely you weren't happy at this. You figured that when you were dead, no matter where you were sent, you'd find him. He'd be waiting for you. But, as you walked through the meadow, you still found yourself alone. He should be there with you; you needed him there with you. You screamed out his name, calling for him but got no response.

Salty tears ran in tracks down your cheeks as you took in the beauty of the scene. Beautiful but lonely…that was heaven? You closed your eyes, not bothering to hide the tears. Your eyes flickered back open though when the pad of a thumb came up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks.

Him…he was here. Your eyes were on him, drinking in the sight of him. He was whole again, not riddled with the bullet holes and cuts that had driven him to death. He was whole and beautiful and right here with you.

"Come now, there's no tears in heaven," he whispered softly to you, smiling that sinful smile down at you.

And all at once, with a sigh of his name, you threw yourself on him, his arms wrapping around you as you pressed your face into his chest. Your arms held tight around him, afraid that if you let him go for even one second, he'd just disappear like the ghost he was.

"Mukuro," you whimpered out and he softly shushed you, one of his arms coming up to tilt your face up to look at him.

"Shh, it's okay now. It's okay."

"Mukuro…is it really you? I was so scared I'd never find you."

"Did you doubt in me that much, little one? I told you I'd always find you, didn't I?"

You nodded softly, your eyes never leaving his.

"Where are we?"

"Heaven."

"So am I dead?"

"No. Not quite yet."

Your eyes flickered closed at this and your next words came out choked.

"Does that mean I have to go back? I can't stay here with you?"

"That's your choice, little (y/n). That's entirely your choice," he breathed out, drawing you closer to him.

Burying your face in his chest once more, breathing him in, you mumbled out those next condemning words.

"Then I choose you. I always choose you."

Back in your hospital room, Tsuna watched, your still-warm hand cradled in his as the line charting your brain activity on the monitor flattened out and alarms went off. Nurses flooded into the room but he paid them no mind. His gaze went from the flat line as it went on to your chest, now unmoving. Though his eyes were swimming with tears, he smiled gently. You'd always said that if Mukuro was to die, you'd die too, that's how much you loved him. Tsuna guessed that maybe you were right, that maybe that love you'd had for the illusionist was just strong enough to keep you with him forever.


	7. Shot Seven: Gokudera

**SHOT SEVEN: BLAH BLAH BLAH {GOKUDERA}  
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_Boy, come on give me rock stuff  
Come put a little love it my glove bag  
I wanna dance with no pants on  
Meet me in the back with the jack and the jukebox_

You were never good enough for them all. You were just a stupid woman after all and you knew you'd never be treated with the same respect as the men in your field. You were just as good as they were, just as talented but you were just a woman, not as good as a man. And you weren't good enough for your boyfriend, the cheating bastard. You weren't the perfect little girlfriend, all femininity and cuteness.

And maybe that's what made you do this, live this double life of sorts. You were buttoned down and reserved by day, a dangerous assassin for your family, all work and no play. But come these nights, your body fueled by alcohol and suppressed rage and aggression at the world at large, you lived a second life, this life.

But you didn't want to focus on all that right now, your alcohol-soaked brain wasn't letting you focus on that right now. No, right now you were focused on this, the same situation you always found yourself in on nights like this, the adrenaline filled situation you'd come to crave. Right now there was just you and him and this dark, secluded corner of the bar.

"I'm Gok…" he started to say, his words slurred. You didn't want to hear it though and you smashed your lips onto his hungrily before he could finish the introduction.

"I don't want to know. I don't care," you muttered out around his lips, your hand tracing down to the front of his pants, fondling him.

He groaned and shoved you harder back into the wall. You both knew what you were after, a one-stand quickie in the back of a crowded club, each of you using the other. Your hands twined in his silver hair as he grabbed your thighs, raising them up to his waist as he ground into you.

You knew that come morning, your brain no longer functioning on hormones and liquor, you'd feel cheap, degraded and dirty but that didn't stop what was happening now, that wouldn't stop it from happening again, different faces but no names. Because maybe that's the way you wanted to feel, maybe that's how you really viewed yourself.


	8. Shot Eight: Xanxus

_A/N: I own nothing but the story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn is property of Amano Akira and the song Bad Romance is property of Lady Gaga.  
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**SHOT EIGHT: BAD ROMANCE {XANXUS}  
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_I want your loving  
All your love is revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance  
_

You propped yourself up on your elbow, resting your head in your hand and turning your gaze to your bed-mate. He looked so peaceful when he slept, something you marveled at. Asleep, he looked more like an angel than the Lucifer you knew he was. In sleep, his rugged features lost all that anger and hate that splashed across them by the light of the day. In sleep, he was truly a thing of beauty.

You always enjoyed these few moments, stolen in the early hours of the morning, when you could just lay there in bed beside him and look at him. You knew that soon enough you'd have to sit up and get out of the bed, slipping out of the room and back into your own while the base was silent and asleep. You knew the routine, had known about it since the first time. He hadn't even had to tell you, you'd slipped out during the night all on your own. It was standard, routine with you two. You were expected to be in his room come night but come morning you were to be gone.

Your thoughts turned to this thing between you two. It was all sex and yet more than sex. This was no fairytale romance, the ones that women are supposed to want, where they'll be the princess and have a knight in shining armor all their own riding in to swoop them up on a white horse, the sunset behind them. You were no princess after all; you were more likely to beat the crap out of the knights then to swoon over them. You were feminine yes but deadly, something you knew he liked about you. He'd told you that, in crasser terms once before. And he was no prince, he was more likely to be the villain of a story than the hero and he'd be more likely to ride in on one of the Horsemen's steeds than on a white horse.

But that didn't mean that this was any less right. This was passion and aggression, fiery and scorching hot, but it was yours. And there was love there, at least on your side, and that was enough for you. You knew he wouldn't love you, couldn't love you. All his love was on something else entirely, on that revenge that he was so determined to get. Maybe after that was achieved, he could love you but for now he tolerated you, loved you in a franker sort of way and that was good, that was lovely.

So maybe some classified this all as horrid and distasteful, as degrading and dangerous to you, maybe some never understood at all why you were with him, why you stood behind every move this man made. You couldn't figure out why they didn't understand. You didn't need the fairy-tale. Even if this was just a 'bad romance', being bad was just too good to pass up.


	9. Shot Nine: Xanxus

_A/N: I own nothing but the story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn and the song are property of their respective owners._

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**SHOT NINE: DAVY JONES REQUIEM {XANXUS}  
**

Blood spilled from his mouth as he slumped to the ground. The ring had rejected him and he was in disgrace. He was the embodiment of false ideal in its fall, that angry beauty intensified in his degradation. He was worse than even the lowest worm, an utter failure. And worst of all, there were so many witnesses to his defeat.

After the truth came out, after the first few screams, he descended into silence. That silence was terrifying, a stark contrast to his normal behavior. He didn't even complain when the medics lifted him onto a stretcher. He didn't deserve to be saved, he was just trash. He didn't say a word as he caught you in his glance as you approached the stretcher. You, who had betrayed him not once now, but twice. His eyes burned holes in yours, accusations and outrage in his gaze. You'd betrayed him all those years ago, sided with the Vongola against him during the Cradle incident, you, his childhood friend and first lover. You, who once again had betrayed him by helping Sawada Tsunayoshi in the battle for the rings.

What had happened to the "I'll love you for always, Xanxus" that you had sworn to him as children? You were a liar and a betrayer, yet you still lived on. He wanted to rectify that fact, to make you hurt and bleed as he was doing. You fueled his anger, his hatred even more. It was your eyes, he thought. It was the way you looked at him with such pity in your gaze. He hadn't wanted any pity ever; he'd just wanted to be your god.

You both stood there, just gazing at the other for what felt like forever, wordless communication passing. Your hand reached up and from around your neck drew a small golden locket, oblong in shape. He knew that locket. It was the first and only gift he'd ever given you, a sweet sixteen in the form of a song inside a locket. Snapping it open, you set it in his hand, the first tinny, metallic notes floating out of the empty inside. It was a bittersweet tune, this song that you had called 'our song' back then. He'd never gotten it, why you chose a requiem, a song for mourning and the dead, as a song for the two of yours. The notes drifted up into his ears and he thought briefly that maybe now he understood. A requiem for the dead…fitting for the two of you and funny how you'd known back then what he did not. Fitting song for the two of you, walking dead in an alive world.


	10. Shot Ten: Knuckles

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, property of Amano Akira, or the song Morning After Dark, property of Timbaland. I own only this story._

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**SHOT TEN: MORNING AFTER DARK{KNUCKLES}**

_My moon belong to your sun_  
_Your fire is burning my mind_  
_Is it love or is it lust_  
_Something that I just can't describe  
_

The sky was dark, the velvety blackness without the glow of a moon to light it up, the only light that of the stars, pinpricks of silver luminance. It was quite late at night, or rather early in the morning, whichever way you wanted to look at it. Either way, it was about one in the morning and everything was silent. You stood outside on the balcony of the mansion that had become the official Vongola headquarters, leaning on the marble railing of the balcony, gazing up at the sky. You were nocturnal by nature, sometimes you wondered if you had been an owl or some other nocturnal creature in a past life. You'd sleep late into the day and stay awake late. The night was all yours, this silent, lovely time.

You heard footsteps behind you as someone else came out onto the balcony. You didn't even bother glancing behind you to see who it was; you had a pretty good idea who it was anyways. As the other figure came to rest beside you, mirroring your body language and leaning onto the railing as well, you turned your head to smile at them. Yes, the night was your time and on nights like this, it became yours and his.

"You're usually asleep by now, Knuckles," you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

"But you never are," he said, smiling back at you. "I thought you could use some company since you're usually alone for most of the night."

"Yeah, I'd like some. Thanks."

The words that passed between you were innocent and friendly but there were words beyond words hidden in them, things that couldn't be put into words. This wasn't the first night he'd joined you on the terrace, both of you star-gazing, talking lightly but mostly just being there together.

He was a man of god now, a priest. He was holy and yet he was a sinner. And you weren't referencing his past there, the man he had killed accidentally. No, you were talking about the lust you saw burning in his eyes when he looked at you, at the way he'd accidentally brush up against you whenever he got the chance. And his lust was answered in you. And maybe, there was something deeper than lust there.

This definitely wasn't the typical love story. You both knew it was wrong. He was a priest, celibate and unable to take a wife or a lover. But feelings never followed rules and, on your nights together, those feelings resonated within both of you. As his hand slipped over yours on the railing, you smiled over at him, intertwining your fingers with his as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. How could something so pure and right be so wrong?


	11. Shot Eleven: CRACK!

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, property of Amano Akira, or the song Ringo Biyori, property of Rocky Chak. I own only the story._

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**SHOT ELEVEN: RINGO BIYORI {CRACK}  
**

_I'm a little wolf inside a girl, you say_  
_And off I'll go (I cannot stay)_  
_Oh whistling round the world_  
_Let's whistle round the world_

You were sitting high in the branches of a tree, swinging your legs as you gazed around you. It was a beautiful day outside, warm and bright. Your hand reached out to pluck the last apple off a branch close to you. This was a special tree, a witch's tree. It produced the most succulent fruit around. As you gobbled up the last little bit of the apple, core and all, you sighed. That was amazingly good.

Giggling happily, you started your descent down the tree, feet and hands swinging from branch to branch until, with a light plop, your feet hit the grassy ground around the tree. Grinning, you looked around. Peanut butterflies, the shells surrounded by opulently colored wings, flew all around you, almost looking as if they were dancing. You laughed as you twirled and danced along with them until all the spinning made you dizzy and you ended up falling flat on your backside on the grass. You only laughed harder at that though. As you caught your breath and your head returned to its normal feeling, you stood up. You knew why you had descended from your tree, something you rarely did. With no more fruit on it, you were out of food. You had to set off to find another witch's tree to take refuse in.

So, whistling a little tune, you started skipping off down the path. You skipped on and on, the path deserted around you. It wasn't until a half hour later that you finally met someone. In the middle of the path stood a man, dressed in a tiara and a golden swan suit. You bounced right up to him. His blonde hair gleamed in the sun, his bangs covering his eyes as he turned towards you with a wide smile.

"Hi! That's a pretty costume!"

"Ushishi. It's not a costume. I am the swan prince Belphegor."

"Oh wow! I've never met a prince," you said, awed a little as you curtsied. Then you remembered why you were on the path and asked him the question that had been on your mind.

"Does the prince know where there's a witch's tree?"

"Yes I do. Because I am a prince."

"Oh, yay! Where?"

Lifting a feather covered arm, Belphegor pointed farther down the path.

"The peasant has to go straight until the path gets to the harbor. From there a boat will take the peasant to where she needs to go."

"Ah! Thank you!" you called out, already skipping along in the direction he had indicated.

You skipped straight along the path for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the path started sloping downwards and you caught sight of a sea bluer than any you could ever have imagined. The harbor around it was beautiful, many boats docked, their creamy white sails blowing in the wind. With a joyful shout, your skipping turned into full-fledged running. And your running turned into you falling head over heels all the way down into the hill into the harbor as you tripped over your own foot and went tumbling.

As you landed on your back in the harbor, you found yourself staring up into big brown eyes which were looking down at you concernedly.

"Are you okay?" the eyes owner squeaked out, holding a hand out to help you up.

"Oh yes, I'm just fine! That was rather a long tumble though!"

Taking the hand, you got to your feet and took a good look at your rescuer of sorts. He was a short boy, only about your height with extremely spiky hair.

"Thank you by the way!" you said, quickly remembering your manners.

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're alright!" the boy said, blushing as he realized he was still holding your hand. He snatched his away quickly. You looked at him oddly before remembering your ultimate quest.

"Do you work around here?"

"Ah, yeah! I'm a sailor on a boat. Why?"

"Do you know which boat will take me to a witch's tree?"

"Yeah! My boat is actually heading to the Silver Spoon Island. I think there are some witch's trees there!"

"Yes! Do you think I could go with you guys?"

The boy nodded and together you two set off for his boat, a huge ship with lovely white sails and large masts called the Marmalade Moon. The boy told you to wait for a second on the boardwalk while he had a word with his captain. Five minutes later, the same boy hurried back down to where you stood.

"Captain Reborn said it's okay! Come on! We're leaving soon!"

As you boarded the ship, you felt ecstatic. You were finally going to find the witch's tree of your dreams. You were so lost in thought that you figured you had missed what had hit you as you felt a sharp pain near the back of your skull.

You jerked awake at the second blow, looking around you dazed.

"Sleeping on school grounds is against the rules, herbivore," Hibari said, raising his tonfa once more.


	12. Shot Twelve: Shamal

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or the song Baby, It's Cold Outside, both of which are property of their respective owners. I own only this story._

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**SHOT TWELVE: BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE {SHAMAL}  
**

_But don't you see - How can you do this thing to me  
There's bound to be talk tomorrow - Making my life long sorrow  
At least there will be plenty implied - If you caught pneumonia and died  
I really can't stay - Get over that old out  
Ahh, but it's cold outside_

And isn't it funny how it's never the arrival that's hard but the departure?

You were in Japan for a bit of a vacation, so to speak, and had decided to drop through Namimori and catch a peek at the kid who would become the next Vongola boss. As a Cavallone family member, you'd heard good things about the kid but had as of yet to see him in person. It was to your surprise that you found out that Trident Shamal was also in Japan. Last you'd heard he'd been kicking around Italy somewhere, charming the hell out of women and getting his ass in hot water for that. The usual with him in other words.

You'd actually been quite overjoyed to hear that your old friend was in town and had dropped by to see him. You'd been pretty busy though, things to do, people to see and the two of you had made plans to meet up at his house later that evening for dinner and catching up.

Though it had been lightly snowing when you made your way over to the apartment he was staying in, the weather hadn't worried you at all. It was winter after all and a little snow was to be expected. The evening went wonderfully. Though the two of you hadn't seen each other in nearly a year, once the two of you got together it always felt like you guys had never parted. You'd known each other for going on thirty years now and had stayed friends through all those years. You knew each others quirks and secrets, the nasty habits and the oddities of the other and you put up with them.

Dinner had been wonderful. You'd brought the wine, Shamal had cooked. No one would ever guess that Shamal was the great cook that he was and it was a good thing that he was as if you'd been the one cooking dinner the night most likely would have included a visit from the fire department. Conversation had flowed all night, the two of you catching up, talking about the old times. You'd talked about people you used to know, people you knew now, and people you never hoped to meet. He joked around about how he wanted to sleep with you and you joked around about how you wanted to sleep with him even though both of you knew that neither of you were really joking too much.

But isn't it funny how time gets the best of us all? As Shamal rose from the couch you'd ended up on for much of the night following dinner, going to refill your drinks, he looked over to the clock.

"Getting late," he commented absently, heading towards the kitchen.

Murmuring out a slight 'hmm', you turned your eyes towards the clock as well. It was ten thirty at night now, a good four and a half hours since you'd arrived. You were quite shocked by that; it felt like you had just arrived barely an hour or so ago. It was late now, much later than you'd imagined and you really should be heading home soon.

Shamal came back into the room, carrying your refreshed drinks just as you were rising from the couch, planning on heading out after saying goodbye.

"Going somewhere, (y/n)?"

"Umm, yeah. I should be heading home now," you said, skirting around him and heading towards the living room door.

"Aww…already? But it feels like you just got here."

"Yeah, I know. I really don't know where all that time goes."

"Well, you know what they say about time flying when you're having fun."

"Ah, true. It's been great Shamal, but I really should be going."

"Haven't you looked outside, (y/n)?" Shamal asked, chuckling softly.

You turned back around to face him at this, a confused look on your face. Now that he mentioned it, you really hadn't taken a look outside since you'd arrived. Changing your course of direction, you hurried over to the window and pulled back one of the curtains, looking out the window. Damn. What had been a little snowfall when you'd arrived had increased and the snow was piling up outside, approaching a near white-out.

"Damn. That's going to be fun to walk home in," you muttered out. Shamal, who had set the drinks on the coffee table, came to stand behind you.

"Why don't you wait a bit and see if it calms down? Come on, have your drink and then you can see if you can grab a cab or something, okay?"

You nodded as his hand came to rest on the small of your back, letting him steer you back to the couch. But one drink turned into two, then three and time got away from you again. The next time you looked up, the clock now read midnight. With a strangled gasp, once more you popped up from the couch, hurriedly muttering to Shamal as you hurried towards the kitchen.

"Hey Shamal, I'm borrowing your phone for a second to call a cab," you called over your shoulder to the man, your hands already picking up the receiver and starting to dial the number of a local cab company.

"Go ahead but I doubt you're going to have much luck. The cabs stop running this late at night."

Your hand paused over the button and with a gentle click, you hung up the receiver. Your stocking feet padded over the cold tile of the kitchen floor as you walked back to the doorway, peering around the corner into the living room.

"What?"

"Yeah, there's no cabs running this late and it's still snowing."

"Damn, I'll just walk then! I'll be leaving then, okay?" you said, turning and heading for the entry way. As much as you didn't want to walk through all that snow, out in the biting cold, you really should be getting going. You should've left, in fact, a couple hours ago when you'd first thought of it.

"You know," Shamal called out to your retreating figure. "You could always stay here tonight."

You laughed, never pausing as you reached the entryway and starting getting ready to leave.

"Wow Shamal! Given your reputation with women, I'd have thought you'd have smoother lines than that," you joked around, pulling on your hat.

Shamal made his way lazily into the entry way, looking at you with a fond smile.

"Haha. Very funny. I was being serious, you goof," he said, reaching out and pulling the hat off your head, tossing it at you before his hand came up to muss up your hair. You made a little sound of protest which he just laughed at.

"You look cute like that, by the way. With your hair all messed up," he said, grinning down at you.

"Aww, thanks," you replied, your tone joking as you moved to put the hat back on. Stepping closer, Shamal caught your hands before you could put it on.

"Come on. You really shouldn't be walking out in that tonight. I'm serious. You should really just stay over tonight."

You didn't think twice at how close he was. Shamal had always been touchy feely after all.

"No thanks. I'll be fine."

"It's really cold out though. I'd feel like an ass if you went out in that. Come on now; help me save my pride as a gentleman."

"You, a gentleman? Psh, since when?"

"Hey, I'm always a gentleman!"

"Yeah, sure!"

His hands dropped back to his sides as you turned away, grabbing your coat and starting to put it on.

"(Y/n). It's a blizzard out there."

"I'm not spending the night with you, Shamal."

"Why? Is my place that horrible?"

"No," you said, turning to stare at him. You really hadn't meant anything offensive and were worried that that was how it had come off. He was just smiling down at you still though and you realized quickly he had just been joking and continued to pull your coat on.

"You're going to freeze out there."

"I'll be fine, Shamal."

"Really, you could catch pneumonia and die."

"Well, aren't you the optimist."

"Well, I'd be really sad if that happened and it will."

Your eyes flickered up to his, sizing him up.

"I'm not going to spend the night being one of your bed buddies, Shamal," you said seriously.

"I do have a guest room."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's called the couch," he said, moving towards you. His hands came up to grab the front of your coat, his face turning serious. His hands pushed the coat backwards, sliding it down your arms as he leaned down, bringing his lips down onto yours softly. It was a quick kiss, soft and gentle and as he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours as his hands slipped your coat all the way off, the jacket falling to the floor.

"Just stay, okay?"

"Well, it is really cold out," you whispered distractedly as his lips came to press against yours quickly again.

"Yeah," he muttered, pulling away briefly before placing another deeper kiss on your lips.

You weren't going anywhere tonight.


	13. Shot Thirteen: Dino

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or the song Winter Wonderland, both of which are property of their respective owners. I own only this story._

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**SHOT THIRTEEN: WINTER WONDERLAND {DINO}**

_When it snows, ain't it thrilling,  
Though your nose gets a chilling  
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,  
Walking in a winter wonderland._

It's really cute how Christmas makes kids of us all. Though you and your boyfriend were in your early twenties now, that hadn't stopped you from playing around like little kids that day. Christmas was in less than a week and spirits were high all around. You knew the holiday was one of his favorites and his enthusiasm for it was quite contagious.

It had all started this morning when you'd woken your boyfriend up, excited by how lovely the day was. Bright sunlight glowed down onto freshly fallen snow that you just knew would be light and fluffy soft, perfect for packing. After a quick breakfast, the both of you had hurried out like little kids to play in the snow. You'd made snow angels and had a snowball fight, which you'd definitely won, much to his chagrin. He'd helped you make a snowman and then decided that the solitary snowman looked much too lonely and needed a companion so you'd spend another hour making a 'snow-woman' for the snowman.

By then it had been early afternoon and snow was starting to fall, big, fat flakes descended slowly down to kiss your noses and melt on your tongues. You'd headed back inside then, cold and wet but deliriously happy. After drying up and grabbing some food, your boyfriend had pulled you back outside, not at all unwillingly on your part, for a little romantic surprise. Hooked up to an old fashioned sleigh were four beautiful horses and you'd been taken for a classic sleigh ride by your klutzy, dorky, absolutely amazing boyfriend. You'd had a picnic supper in the sleigh and had cuddled together under the blanket, kissing and enjoying the wonderful day.

And wasn't this the perfect end to the perfect day, you thought, wrapping your hands around the warm cup of hot chocolate as Dino passed it to you, coming to sit behind you. Setting his own cup down on the floor, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your back resting against his chest as his legs rested outside yours. He placed a light kiss on your head as the two of you just cuddled, sitting in front of the roaring fire.

"I think this is what they meant by a winter wonderland," you whispered happily.

"Yeah, must be," Dino agreed softly, smiling down at you. Leaning down a bit, he rested his chin on your shoulder and said something that put the perfect finishing touch on this perfect day. He finally said those words you'd been waiting to hear for nearly a year now.

"I love you, (y/n)."


	14. Shot Fourteen: Gokudera

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or the Appassionato, both of which are property of their respective owners. I own only this story._

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**SHOT FOURTEEN: APPASSIONATO {GOKUDERA}**

It seemed that every time things got too big, too much for him, that this was where he'd run, straight to the piano instead of to you. His fingers flew over the keys, producing a flurried cacophony of tones. You stood half shadowed in the doorway. Normally, you loved hearing him play. It was rare that he played and it always awed you when he did. He had so much talent and he seemed to make the music come to life. But today you found no joy in watching his fingers pound away at the keys, heard none of the beauty in the sonata.

Ah, you knew this one though. The Appassionato. He'd told you once before that it had been his mother's favorite song, that it had been the last one he had heard her play. So maybe that was why it was the one that came out in troubled times, the one he played so angrily. You knew that every time he played it, it was for her. It was his form of mourning, of showing her that he hadn't forgotten her, dead she may be.

But this time, the song wasn't for her. It wasn't for the son's grief over the mother. No, this time it was for a much fresher grief, a newer, larger hurt and fury he wouldn't let out. And this song scared you with the raw emotion it portrayed, at how it carried out his sorrow in it's waving, rising crescendos. And for once you couldn't watch, for once you had to turn away, leave the house to get away from that sound. He hadn't cried, hadn't screamed, hadn't said anything for the past two days since it had happened. He'd just been at that piano, pounding away, playing that song over and over.

Ah, Tsuna. Why did you have to go? Why did you have to die on him?


	15. Shot Fifteen: Ken Joshima

_A/N: I own only the story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn and the song Let It Snow are property of their respective owners._

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**SHOT FOURTEEN: LET IT SNOW {KEN JOSHIMA}**

_Oh the weather outside is frightful,  
But the fire is so delightful,  
And since we've no place to go,  
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_

Though you loved all three (four? Would it be four? Would Chrome and Mukuro be considered two separate people or just one?) of them to pieces, you could never imagine living like the Kokuyo Gang did. All alone out there in that old abandoned maze of buildings, especially in weather like this. You couldn't imagine it, didn't want to. You felt horrible for thinking that way because it felt like you were looking down on them. Maybe you were but you couldn't help it. You couldn't imagine living out in Kokuyo, particularly during snowy, cold days like today. You couldn't imagine anything other than your comfy, warm apartment with your puppy curled on the couch and the television switched onto a music channel as Christmas carols wafted through the apartment.

To be honest, despite how much you loved them all, even visiting Kokuyo Land kind of freaked you out. It was dilapidated, run-down and kind of creepy. There weren't doors left on too many buildings, many of the windows were busted. In summer, nothing kept the heat out, in winter, nothing kept the cold out. But because they were your friends, you visited them up there, despite your misgivings. You never let your distaste for the place show, never brought over too many extra things like food or clothing for fear of offending them, however much you wanted to. All three (four?) of them were quite proud after all.

But it was with a heavy heart that you trudged your way through the falling snow to the main building of Kokuyo Land, a cardboard tray full of hot drinks in your hands as you went to visit your friends. It just always depressed you that you lived so well and they had so little. But you always came by at least once a week.

Walking through the building, you finally found the three of them in the old theatre, huddled on couches around a trash-bin fire. The sight nearly made you cry but you kept a warm smile on your face as you called out a greeting, hurrying over to the couches. As you handed Chrome a hot chocolate and Chikusa a tea, you made your way over to the last couch where your rambunctious boyfriend was zoned into his game. He hadn't even looked up when you had come in but that was common. You knew how he got with those games of his.

So you just sat down on the cold couch, shivering a bit. Pulling your knees up to sit cross-legged, you rested the tray in your lap. The room was silent, but that was no big surprise. It normally was. Sitting where you were, the heat from the fire warmed you, feeling delightful. An arm snaked behind you, wrapping around your shoulders as Ken shut off his game and looked down at you. Reaching down, he snagged one of the last two hot chocolates and pulled you closer to him. Despite the coldness outside, your boyfriend was warm and comfortable, a living furnace.

"Hey Kakipi! I'm out of gum, do we have any more?"

You just listened as Ken's words started a mini-argument, another normal occurrence around here. Yes, you might hate Kokuyo Land but you loved the Kokuyo Gang and so you'd put up with it.


	16. Shot Sixteen: Adult Reborn

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, property of Amano Akira, or the Assassin's Tango, property of John Powell. I own only this story._

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**SHOT SIXTEEN: ASSASSIN'S TANGO {ADULT!REBORN}  
**

It was a magnificent scene, it really was. Crystal and gold chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling of the expansive room, spilling prismatic light into every corner. The hall itself was an amazing piece of architecture, it's curving staircases and pillared walls giving it a sense of old world glamour and Hollywood dramatics. Even the people milling around looked like they should be gracing the Hollywood of old, debonair men in their tuxedos or tailored sports coats, perfectly made up women in luxurious dresses and stoles, sipping champagne as they milled around, smoozing and cruising.

Liars and cheats. They were disgusting, all of them. Every one of them was here not to support the charity this gala was being held for, but to build connections, to be seen at the right places with the right people. It was all about appearances for these people; about furthering their own goals and getting themselves farther up the ladder to success.

You fit right in there. Like them, you cared nothing about the charity or the reason the gala was held. Like them, you were just there to help your career along. Hell, you even looked like you belonged there, another beautiful, elegant lady among the crowd. Though a bit more provocatively dressed than most, in that slinky black dress with the slit in the skirt that had been earning you appraising looks from men and glares from their dates, you really could have just been another Sally Socialite out on the town for a night.

You stood by one of the many marbled pillars that ran along the walls, demurely sipping from your glass of champagne as you gazed around the room, watching people mill around, mixing and mingling in groups. Many couples were out on the ballroom floor already, dancing gently to the softly romantic music the orchestra was playing. Musetta's waltz. It was a classic.

You weren't interested in anybody though. Your eyes were searching for only one thing. Him. And they quickly found him. You'd memorized his face in the photograph you'd been given. He'd come across as very handsome on paper but in real life, he was much more. He was easily the most attractive man in the room, even with those ridiculous sideburns. His rangy body looked like it was built for a suit and he looked so comfortable in one, wearing it with a grace that most other men lacked.

You couldn't blame the women in the room for the looks they were giving him or the expression on the face of the woman he was dancing with. The poor thing looked positively smitten. He was definitely the kind of man that had an impact on women's libidos. Hell, you hadn't even approached him yet and he was affecting yours, a tingle running up your spine and a thousand fantasies already forming in your traitorous mind. He was the most beautiful mark you'd ever seen. You found yourself having to do something you'd never done before; you found yourself having to remind yourself that he was just that, a mark.

He lifted his gaze from the woman he was with and his eyes met yours as you looked at him. You let your mouth curve into a sensual smile, a come hither look in your eyes. You swore you saw an answering smile on his face and as the song ended, you watched as he said something to the woman he'd been dancing with before turning away from her and approaching you. Your eyes raked over his body as he walked towards you, moving from the top of his fedora covered head to his expensive Italian loafers. He moved wonderfully, all wolfish grace.

"Would the lady honor me with a dance?" he asked as he stopped in front of you, holding out a hand and bowing slightly. Hmm, beauty and manners. You swore you were getting goose bumps despite how hot your body was feeling.

"I'd love to," you said, setting your glass down on a small table that stood in front of the pillar you were beside before setting your hand in his. His hand closed over yours and you took a moment to enjoy the feel of his calloused hand on yours, took a moment to muse about how his hands were just the perfect size, not too large to the point of eclipsing your own, but not small enough to be womanly.

You followed him as he led you out to the dance floor just as the orchestra was playing the beginning notes of a new song, a sensual, dramatic tango. Fitting for the situation, you thought, as you brought an arm up to drape across his shoulders as one of his flitted to your waist.

He took the lead without any hesitation or any fuss from you, leading you through a very sensual tango. Your feet tripped and traipsed across the floor, your body moving against his, dipping and twirling in time to the music.

"So, what are you doing here tonight?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Oh, I'm just here for business. Much like everyone else," you answered, smirking slightly at him as he took you into another dip, his hand going behind your thigh as you lifted your leg up to rest on his hip. You felt his hand creeping up your thigh, his fingers magic against your skin. Damn, this was no time to get turned on. He was your mark, your job. His hand slid up farther and you suppressed a groan. Your mind wasn't working right, that's what you figured. That's why you didn't think twice about his hand slipping up under the slit of your dress. If it had been working right, you would have drawn away instead of letting it slip up and pull the small hidden knife from its holster around your upper thigh.

Damn, how did this guy know?

"And may I ask what your job is?" he asked suavely as he pulled you up out of the dip, sending your knife flying away with the other.

"You," you whispered huskily as you pulled away from him.

"What a coincidence. You're mine as well."

You barely had time to dodge as his hand whipped under his suit jacket and he pulled out a gun, firing a shot at you. Man, this guy was fast. At least it hadn't hit you though. This was odd, in a sense. That was a shot even the most amateur hitman could have made.

If the sight of your knife impaled in the wall hadn't been enough to start people screaming, the sound of gunfire was. The entire ballroom erupted in pandemonium as people started screaming shrilly, all flocking together as they started running pell-mell towards the entrance. You spared him one last look before joining the crowd, hiding yourself in the crowd of rushing bodies.

As you emerged through the door into the chilly night, you shoved your way towards a taxi-cab sitting outside and hurriedly jumped in. Giving the driver the address of your hotel, you spared one last glance at the building. He was outside now and your eyes met. A smirk was on his face as he leaned against the wall of the building and he winked at you as the cab pulled away.

An answering smirk crept onto your face.

That's right, Mr. Hitman, you thought. Let's take this party somewhere a bit more private.


	17. Shot Seventeen: Reader's Choice

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, which is by Amano Akira, or Violin Romance by Mozart. I own only this story. Also, since I'm vaguely curious, I'd love to know who you, the reader, imagines for your reader's choice._

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**SHOT SEVENTEEN: VIOLIN ROMANCE {READER'S CHOICE}**

_[instrumental]_

It was cold out tonight. The exposed skin of your face and hands was pebbled with goose-bumps and you could see your breath with every exhale, hanging on the air in foggy little clouds. It was a bitter, seeping cold; the kind of cold that didn't seem so bad when you first stepped outside but which ate away at you slowly and surely until you felt like you'd been frozen from the inside out. You stood outside your back door, looking out at the withered, dead remains of your garden and the driveway beyond it. Your booted feet were planted in cold snow that fell and melted inside your boots, turning your feet into dripping wet icicles. You mentally reminded yourself to shovel a path out here but, as it had been every other time, it was an empty reminder. The only thing that was shoveled around here was the driveway, a long, twisting road that led to your house, a good mile long. You shoveled that everyday, keeping it nice and clean for when he came home.

It had been nearly been half a year now since he'd first left on his trip. For work, of course. Work always called him away for long business trip and yet you had never complained. You knew the mafia well enough; you'd been born into it, though you'd never actively participated in that world. You knew what was demanded of him. But he'd promised you he'd be back home as soon as he could. That had been six months ago and he still wasn't back. Ten weeks ago, two suited men that you recognized as his fellow Guardians had come around. They'd knocked on your door and told you that they had to talk to you. You'd refused to let them in; you knew that you didn't want whatever news they were bringing. You didn't want them in this house that the two of you shared. Of course, that hadn't stopped them from delivering the news anyways, in hushed tone and with looks of shame and sadness. Your husband of five years now was missing in action after failing to make contact during an undercover mission. You'd looked at them, their faces vaguely unreal and, going in the house, had returned with a shotgun. You'd gotten in a couple good shots while they ran back to their vehicles. That one bastard would have a great scar on his ass to show off from now on.

Nobody had been up to this little private house, set a mile back in the woods, since then. You didn't care if anyone showed up and you plain out refused to believe that your husband was never coming home again. He was fine, he had to be. After all, he was the strongest man you knew, the smartest man. There was no way he'd let himself be caught and killed as a spy. He was coming home. He was.

So everyday, you tended to your house, did all the daily chores, peeking out the window every so often to see if you could hear him coming up the driveway like he used to, walking and whistling cheerfully. He always parked at the very end of the driveway and walked up and down from the house. Every night, you'd do what you did now, stand outside and watch the driveway, sometimes for hours at end, waiting to hear that whistle or see him come up that driveway. But he'd had yet to come.

You were vaguely aware that it was getting foggy out, the fog all but obscuring your vision as it rolled in with the speed of a bullet train. You could barely see an inch in front of your face and figured you should probably call it a night and head in. After all, it was useless to keep watch when you couldn't see anything. And that's when you heard it, that sound you'd been anxiously awaiting for so long. High, clear, distinct whistling, always that same old tune, some old, classical piece you'd never really been that into but that he had loved. You'd know that whistle no matter how long it had been since you heard it. It was him.

Calling out, his name, you stood on your tippy-toes, craning around and trying to see if you could see even a blurred outline of him through the fog. But you just couldn't make out anything with your eyes. The whistling went on though and using your ears, you went running through the fog towards the sound, slipping and sliding and even falling once or twice, unable to see a full foot in front of you or behind you.

Finally! Finally, you came upon him, an indistinct figure in the fog. Calling out his name, you ran closer, trying to get to him. He stopped his whistling and turned to look at you, shooting a smile that you could just make out.

"You're finally home!" you cried out, going to throw yourself at him. He stopped you though, hands that you couldn't quite make out through the thickening fog placed on your shoulders to hold you away from him. In fact, you could barely even feel his hands, just an overwhelming sense of coldness that, at the time, you attributed to the cold outside.

"Yeah. I'm home," he said, looking at you. His features slid in and out as you squinted, trying to make him out in the fog.

"Home to stay?" you asked, suddenly afraid.

"Yeah, home to stay," he whispered out as the fog seemed to overtake everything, making you unable to see anything at all, even your own hand in front of your face for a good minute or so. You made to step closer to him, scared by your inability to see and even more scared that you'd lose him again. Your feet moved, carried yourself farther but you didn't bump into him. In fact, you didn't bump into anything…but your feet did stumble over something, one foot slipping out from under you as you fell, already lurching into empty air. Dammit, you'd forgotten about the steep, rocky hills that bordered your house on three sides, all of them heading down and all of them quite dangerous.

You squeezed your eyes shut, throwing up your arms in preparation for the fall. You fell, legs stretched out awkwardly, body tumbling down hills. But it was odd, there should have been a lot of pain, these hills were rocky…and even without the rocks, falling should have been pain. But there was no pain…there was just that awkward feeling of falling and this ice cold sensation throughout your entire body. It almost felt as if someone, made entirely of that horribly cold sensation, was shielding you, wrapping their body around yours and making sure that you weren't hurt.

It was about half-way through this fall that, for reasons unknown to you (but in actuality occurred because of your head bouncing off a particularly large and very hard tree), you passed out.

When you next awoke, you were utterly shocked to find yourself, once more, back in your house. You sat up and reached a hand up to your head where your trembling and cut-up hand landed on a rather large goose-egg. You were surprised by this too. How could you feel no pain now, how could you have not felt any pain then and yet be so bruised and cut up? You went to sit up, your booted feet dripping water onto the floor as the snow stuck to them melted slowly away. A jacket that had been tucked around your unconscious form fell to the floor as you straightened up. You shifted your gaze to it and bending down, picked it back up, turning it over in your hands as you examined it, a strangled gasp jerking its way out. You'd recognize this anywhere…it was his jacket; it even had the little heart that you'd sewn into the wrist of the jacket all those years ago. But it wasn't like all those years ago anymore. Bullet-holes riddled the jacket and blood seeped in splotches across the fabric.

Tears streamed from your eyes as, cradling the jacket to your chest, you opened your mouth and started screaming in horror, in shock, _in pain._


	18. Shot Eighteen: Colonello

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, owned by Amano Akira or the song 'Cleanin' This Gun' by Rodney Atkins. I only own this story._

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**SHOT EIGHTEEN: CLEANIN' THIS GUN {COLONELLO}**

_{Y'all run along and have a little fun  
I'll see you when you get back  
Probably be up all night  
Still cleanin' this gun}_

The sound of an approaching car could be heard and, like that sound had been doing for much of the day, it made your daughter go tense and fidget a bit, twisting her hands as she rushed to the window. You couldn't help but smile as you sat on her bed, watching her rush around all in a tizzy, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders and looking like a beautiful angel sent straight from heaven. A wave of love that was so strong that it made you think you were going to cry for a second swept through you, joined with a healthy dose of motherly pride.

As she pulled back the curtain on her window, her hands yanking at the fabric, you both could see the beat-up, junky-looking car pull up to the house. She whirled around to look at you, beautiful blue eyes widened and a look of panic on her face.

"He's already here! But I'm not even close to ready!" she cried out, hands fluttering about as she rushed around, trying to find last minute things, smooth her hair, and make sure she looked nice. "What am I going to do, Momma?"

You couldn't help but smile and laugh, rising up off the bed to walk over to her, reaching your hands up to help her with the necklace she was trying to fasten.

"You just keep getting ready. Men need to learn that a little waiting's good for them. And besides, your father is out there so it's not like he won't have anyone to talk to."

Your daughter gasped in horror and a bit of shock.

"But, Momma! That's what I'm afraid of! You know how Daddy is!"

You chuckled at that and continued helping her get ready as she rushed around though, when her back was turned, you did throw an anxious look outside.

"Yeah, maybe we should hurry up."

Within five minutes, you and your daughter descended out onto the porch, your daughter all but running to go meet her very first boyfriend for her very first real date before, as she said, her father could scare the poor guy into the Witness Protection program.

This wasn't really that big of a stretch, you thought as you stepped out onto the porch behind her, looking at her as she walked over to a thin, gangly teenage boy who was quite, despite the very awkwardness that came with being a teenager, the cutie. Though he gave your daughter a smile when she went over to him and sent a strained smile your way, the kid looked absolutely petrified. And, glancing, at your husband, you could really see why.

Your daughter was glaring at her father, the kid was slowly trying to inch his way off the porch, your dear, dear husband was smiling an insane grin at the kid, polishing a large shotgun while several more lay at his feet….looked like this situation was up to you to defuse.

"Well, why don't you kids just run along now and have fun? Be sure to be back around ten-thirty, okay?"

"Nine," Colonello said loudly, looking at the boy. You could see your daughter's eyes narrow as her mouth started to open and you beat her to the punch.

"Make that eleven, okay. Now you kids run along and drive safe."

As you waved goodbye to the kids, watching carefully as they pulled out of the driveway, you could feel your husband staring at your back. No, make that glaring. And you gave as good as you got because, as soon as the car was out of sight, you whirled around to face him.

"Oh Colonello dear?" you asked, your tone sickeningly sweet and dripping with honeyed anger. He just continued to glare at you, polishing cloth still on the gleaming shot-gun. "Do you think we could have done this without the guns?"

"What are you talking about, dammit! I polish these every week!"

_I just chose to do it somewhere the little horny bastard could see me_, Colonello thought.

"Bullshit, 'Nello! I swear to God, if you were threatening that poor kid…"

"Dammit! I wasn't threatening the little maggot!"

_I was making promises, _Colonello thought.

You just stared at him for a second before shaking your head.

"Go put the guns away. And I swear that if I so much as see you with another gun when they come back…much less attempting to shot him, I'll never sleep with you again."

"Dammit! I wasn't going to shoot him!"

_If he doesn't touch my daughter that is…and I made that very clear,_ he thought. _But just in case, I think it's a good thing I have Skull following them around with that video-camera._


	19. Shot Nineteen: Ryohei

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, owned by Amano Akira, or the song Black Velvet Band by the Irish Rovers. I do however own this fail! shot of a story. Enjoy!

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**SHOT NINETEEN: BLACK VELVET BAND {RYOHEI}**

_{_ _Then the law came and put me in prison.  
Bad luck to her black velvet band!_}

It was perfect, this plan of yours, it really was. You'd get all that you'd ever wanted in the end and you wouldn't even have to take the fall for it. No, that was what he was for after all. Your stupid little lover…really, he was useful though. He was honestly a good man; it was just that you had no use for good people. After all, you were anything but a good person yourself.

You must admit though that Ryohei had been good to you though. You'd known each other for quite a while, though only as passing acquaintances. One of his fellow 'family' members had been both a client and an old friend of yours and your paths had crossed. He'd always come across as stupid but nice, neither of which was a quality you held in particularly high regard.

It had been almost a year and a half after you first met Ryohei that the shit hit the fan. One of your clients, banned from seeking your services anymore after abusing one of your girls, had gotten pissy and sought revenge. Within days, you were exposed as the highest Madam Italy had ever known. Of course, it had created a relatively major scandal and as you were brought in, a knock-out in heels and handcuffs, flash-bulbs went off a mile a minute as various pictures were taken, myriad headlines already being written. Your 'girls' had been brought in too, all those working that night, and they caused a bit of a stir too. After all, you were known for hiring some of the most beautiful women in the world.

And that was really the end of everything. It wasn't jail-time that worried you. You got off scotch clean. After all, your client list was made of prestigious people, people who really didn't want their names leaked out. Such as the hot-shot lawyer who represented you or the judge on your case. No, you received only a slap on the wrist, a little reprimand. But it still left a stigma on you and there was no way to revive your business. Your clients wouldn't take the risk of being seen with you, your girls were either given jail-time, were deported, or ran as far out of the limelight as they could. Your high-end life was gone, the constant partying and expensive living gone, the group of adoring men and women, fake friends, wouldn't be seen with you anymore.

Ryohei was really the only one who stood by you in the aftermath and you kept his support, playing the victim and the repentant sinner to a tee. He took you in and he supported you and protected you. That was all fine with you but he was only a means to an end. Even back then, your mind had been focused only on revenge. Ryohei had quickly turned from your friend to your lover and you made sure he grew to love and rely on you. He never suspected you didn't love him back. You were, after all, a supremely talented actress in your own right.

All these months you'd never let on what you'd been doing when he wasn't around. Though they wouldn't be seen with you anymore, you did have quite a few connections left, mostly because of the blackmail you had on them. You'd really had no trouble finding out who had leaked your name out and it had only been a simple matter of gathering their contact information after that. One call had brought them here to you tonight.

Peeling off the gloves, you looked down at the dead body on the floor, blood seeping over the carpet. Ugh, head wounds were always so messy. The gun you'd used to kill him, the gun with a very good silencer had come from Ryohei's drawers and had his prints, and his prints only all over it. You'd even timed everything perfectly.

As if to give credence to your thoughts, the door to the house you and Ryohei shared opened and you heard Ryohei kicking off his shoes, taking off his jacket. You let crocodile tears start to slip down your face as you threw the gloves into the merrily crackling fire that lit the fireplace. As he walked into the room, his eyes took in the scene. Without a word, he hurried over to the dead body, blood from the carpet staining his socks. He checked for a pulse, a useless thing to do really, but it transferred the victim's blood onto him. Lastly, he looked up at you.

"What happened? Are you alright?" he asked.

You just continued to sob. You could already hear the sirens right outside the house and started screaming as he advanced towards you. That was how the police found everything when they burst into the house.

It was on your testimony that Ryohei was booked and convicted of first-degree murder. You were cleared of any wrong-doing in the scene, simply a victim in this whole plan. The stories in the paper reported it as a love-triangle gone wrong. Ryohei had found you sleeping with the man and had started screaming. The man had tried to run but Ryohei shot him down. He was going to shoot you too, you had claimed.

It was amazing how easily it went. He even admitted to everything, the stupid boy. But still, even after the trial, thinking back, you felt a pang in your heart as you remembered how his eyes had looked when he watched you take the stand. And still, to this day, you couldn't help but wonder why he'd admitted to the crime, why he'd backed up everything you said.

Love?

There was no such thing.

Was there?


	20. Shot Twenty: ByakuranReaderTsuna

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, owned by Amano Akira or the song Spanish Train by Chris De Burgh. Since I'm a huge Chris De Burgh fan, whose songs always are the best stories to me, I tried to keep as much of the original story of the song. So really, I own only the words I use to write this fic._

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**SHOT TWENTY: SPANISH TRAIN {BYAKURAN/Reader/TSUNA}**

_{_"_But I think I'll give you one more chance"  
said the Devil with a smile,  
"So throw away that stupid lance,  
It's really not your style",  
"Joker is the name, Poker is the game}_

This is really weird. That was the very first thing that flashed through your mind. You found yourself looking down on a truly horrifying scene but for a second, the horror of it was lost on you. What you did notice was your own dying body. The train you'd been operating, the very train that you'd been driving, was half off the railway tracks, the front carriages catching on fire already as the engines blew one by one. You were slumped over the controls, a massive head wound leaking blood. Your fellow operating crew were dead as well and many of the passengers were dead, dying or, in a blind panic, trying to leave the train and succeeding only in getting caught in the crowd of panic and trampling other passengers or getting trampled.

But if you were dead, you wondered, staring wide-eyed and full of terror and nausea at the scene, as you figured you must be to be looking at your own body, why were you stuck here, looking at this? Why weren't you, as the good book said, standing in front of the pearly gates, awaiting your judgment? After all, you'd been a good person. Alright, so you might have sinned, but really, who hadn't? Why weren't you going to heaven? Was this hell you were in, stuck watching this for the rest of eternity? Or was this place neither, a sort of in-between?

"Beautiful scene, isn't it?" a voice said behind you. You whirled around, heart beating a crazy rhythm in your chest, to find that a (very handsome) white-haired man had joined you, appearing without you noticing by your side. He looked down at you with a smile and though it made no sense, you felt real terror, worse than any you'd ever known, flood through your body. You felt the urge to scream in holy terror but it just wouldn't come out, all your vocal chords managed was a weak 'who are you'.

He chuckled at that, popping a marshmallow into his mouth from the bag he held in his hands. He offered you the bag but you made no move to take one or do anything but stare at him nervously.

"Well, I'm known by many names, my dear (y/n)-chan. Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, the Devil…but you, (y/n)-chan, you can call me Byakuran."

Wait, what? Did this guy really just say that he was the devil? You really should have been doubtful, but looking up at him, you weren't. You believed him.

"Uhhh…why are you here?" you asked, trying to shrink away from him, only to have him move closer to you, leaning down to whisper his next words in your ear in a purring, husky tone.

"For your soul, of course."

This time, the scream really did seem like it would make its way out with no problem but it was interrupted by a blinding flash of orange light. When the light dimmed, you could see another figure there, holding a lance and glaring at the man who had introduced himself as Byakuran. This figure had a glowing burst of that original orange light, much like a flame, on his forehead and his hands were bathed in it. Though you should have been even more afraid that another figure had burst out of nowhere, this light-or maybe the figure itself-did the exact opposite. If anything, he took away all fear you felt, sending feelings of peace and hope through your body.

"Leave her alone, Byakuran. This one isn't yours," this new figure said, pointing his lance at him.

Byakuran just chuckled though, throwing an arm around you despite you trying to squirm away from him. If anything, his hold tightened the more you moved, threatening to choke you and you held still, feeling the terror wash through you again.

"Ah, but Tsuna-kun, I found her first. And you know what they say, finders-keepers, losers-weepers."

The man, now identified as Tsuna, approached, holding the lance up high.

"I said get away from her."

His very tone spoke of thunder and lightning, of all things natural and yet terrible. This was God, you realized, God in the figure of a cute teenaged boy! This was God in all his wrath and he was fighting for you. You were somehow cheered by this fact and by the fact that Byakuran's arm slipped away from you and his smile seemed to falter for a second.

As soon as his arm was gone, you were running. Though this Tsuna guy was holding a weapon and therefore, was most likely the more dangerous of the two, you headed straight towards him. He allowed you to hide behind his body, peeking your head out just a bit to watch the other guy. For some reason, with Tsuna, you felt no fear at all and your voice seemed to work right.

"You heard him!" you cried out, glaring at Byakuran. "I'm not yours, go away!"

Byakuran tilted his head, meeting your gaze with a sardonic smile.

"Well, it's not very nice to talk like that to someone who hasn't done anything to you. I think you should learn some manners," he said, pointing a finger at you.

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to tell him that pointing wasn't good manners either but instead, you found your hands going to grasp at your throat. Your voice…what had happened to your voice? It just wouldn't work!

"Ah, much better," Byakuran said with a big smile, chuckling a bit at your panic about your sealed voice. Turning to Tsuna, he went on. "Don't worry though. I'll give you another chance to save little (y/n) over there. But really, Tsuna-kun, you're not going to need that silly lance. It's not really your thing anyways."

You noticed Tsuna's eyes narrow as he stared down Byakuran and you felt like you should scream out and just tell him not to agree to anything, that this Byakuran guy was bad news. But you figured that not only did he know this but you knew that you wouldn't be able to tell him anything anyways. Not with your voice not working.

A second later and the lance just disappeared. It didn't fade away, Tsuna didn't chuck it away, it just disappeared.

"What do you want, Byakuran?" Tsuna ground out, making sure you were still behind him.

"(Y/n)-chan's soul…but since you aren't giving that up without a fight, how about we play a little game for it?"

"A game?" Tsuna asked cautiously.

"Yes. Joker's the name, poker's the game. We could play right here," Byakuran chirped out, a table with two chairs appearing out of nowhere, cards already ready to be dealt out. "But just to make this a bit more interesting," he added with a devious smirk. "Why not make the wager a bit bigger. Say, the souls of everyone here," he said, waving a hand at the horrific scene below you three. You'd been trying to forget it was there, and had succeeded for a while but as he called attention to it, you looked down. And promptly threw up as your eyes scanned the mess of bodies as the flames overtook all the train.

Tsuna's arm wrapped around you and you looked up at him instead, smiling to thank him. He led you over to the table, offering you one of the two chairs and making a third one appear right beside yours. He took a seat and looked expectantly up at Byakuran who, with an outright laugh this time, came over and sat across from the two of you.

The atmosphere at the table was tenser than any you'd known. To try to distract yourself, and because you just genuinely wanted to help out here, you started shuffling the deck of cards before you dealt a hand of five out to each of the men. You must admit, you were really cheering for Tsuna. You had, in fact, your fingers and toes crossed, you'd knocked a bit on the wooden table while dealing out the cards, and you were saying an internal kind of chant. You'd pray but really…would praying to God for God to win even work?

You couldn't see either of their hands; you didn't even try to peek. You had no wish to know either's hand until they set them down. If Byakuran won, despite all your chants and crossed fingers and hope, then you didn't want to know until you absolutely had to. You wouldn't have been worried much though, if you had peeked at that exact moment, for it really looked like Tsuna would win. Byakuran had three aces and a king while Tsuna had the queen, the knave, and the nine and ten of spades, obviously going for a straight. All he needed was the eight of spades and this game was in his pocket.

Tsuna turned to you.

"Another card, please?" he asked you politely. Smiling at him, wishing him all the best and hoping to communicate that by your expression alone, you dealt him another card, praying that it helped him.

Not that it really did. The eight of diamonds was now a part of his hand, though he didn't dream of blaming you for the luck of the draw, unlike Byakuran, who with each card had been cursing you for not just giving him a winning hand. Speaking of the Devil, he smiled over at the two of you.

"Why, Tsuna-kun, I believe you have a straight…you always had the worst poker face, you know. Why don't you get your girlfriend to toss a card over here so we can figure out the winner?"

Byakuran winked at you as you dealt him a card and you cast your eyes downward…just in time to see him slip a card out of his sleeve. You tried to pull back the card you had given it but it was too late, he'd already taken hold of it. Panicked, you tried to tell Tsuna but your voice still wasn't working and he was too deeply absorbed in the game at the moment to notice anything was wrong.

As the bidding grew higher, you felt your terror increase and not even Tsuna's presence was enough to keep it down. The beginning bid was ten thousand souls, agreed on by the both of them. When Byakuran raised it to fifty-nine thousand, Tsuna didn't even blink. The atmosphere was growing even tenser; you could tell both were in it to win.

"I agree," he said to Byakuran, his face cool and calm despite the outrageous number. And almost as if to top the Devil, God announced an even more ridiculous number. "Let's make it one hundred and five, that'll put you out of commission for a while."

Oh god, how you wanted to scream at Tsuna, slap him, something…anything to make him take those words back. You were doomed. Byakuran smirked and, flipping his cards nonchalantly down on the table, he looked over at you.

"I win."

Tsuna looked disbelieving down at the cards as Byakuran continued.

"Now, my dear (y/n), I believe you're mine."

Tsuna's eyes snapped up at this. "I demand a rematch."

Byakuran only smiled at this as he stood up and came over to you. His hand gripped your upper arm tightly, pulling you up.

"Fine, Tsuna-kun. How about a nice game of chess?"

Tsuna just nodded, his eyes still focused on the cards on the table, as if they'd change and tell him that he won.

"How about we reconvene to another spot though? It's so depressing here. But (y/n)-chan, I believe you have a job to do?"

You just glared up at him. He simply smiled down at you, sweeping a hand down to indicate where the train had been…and where it was now, a ghostly black engine in perfect condition instead of the burning wreck it had been. It was filled and ghostly silent with souls upon souls.

"Why, to drive the train of course…maybe if you do a good enough job, I'll give you your voice back."

At this, Tsuna's eyes snapped up to look at you as you broke down into noiseless sobs. As you were marched off to your fate by your new demonic employer, you clearly heard his promise.

"I'll win next time, I promise. I'll get all those souls back, including yours."

Well, you'd been driving this train for a hundred years now, gathering more doomed passengers every little while. You were still silent, no words had been returned to you. And in some far-off place, you knew Tsuna and Byakuran were still going at it, maybe over a nice game of cricket or a hearty war using chess pieces. And you knew the Devil was still cheating. But you also knew God was trying his best and you believed in him, in his promise. Because belief was all you had left.


	21. Shot Twenty One: Daemon Spade

_A/N: I do not own Kateko Hitman Reborn or any of it's characters. Nor do I own the song Heavy in Your Arms by Florence + the machine. I own only this story.  
_

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**SHOT TWENTY-ONE: HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS {DAEMON SPADE}**

_{This will be my last confession  
__I love you never felt like any blessing}_

His thrusts came faster and you could feel his body growing tense above you. It would be over soon, a fact you knew and welcomed. And sure enough, as he rammed into you, his heavy breathing and throaty cries a muted cacophony of sound barely registering in your brain, he threw back his head and released his warm load into you. Huffing and puffing heavily, he lowered himself onto you, cradling your listless, unresponsive body beneath him. Dropping a kiss onto your shoulder, he rolled off of you to lie smirking on his back in the bed.

"Goodnight, (y/n)," you heard him mutter from beside you. You could hear the smirk in his voice as he added, almost as an after-thought. "I love you."

"I love you too, Daemon," you said mechanically through numb lips. Your reaction felt scripted to you, as it must to him though he didn't show any sign that he cared about that. It was an automatic reaction now, something you didn't need to think about or mean. Your body remained in it's prone position on your back, your eyes gazing up uninterestedly at the white-washed ceiling. You wouldn't have been able to say if you were comfortable or not and you didn't consider moving or shifting positions. It was too much work and your brain didn't register any needs or wants to do either of those things. Your brain didn't register much these days, keeping you on a constant auto-pilot that kept you doing what you were expected day in and day out without feeling or thinking. It kept you empty, kept you numb, made you heavy.

The digital clock at your bedside kept counting the passing times, fusing minutes into hours as you lay there, unsleeping, unmoving. It kept ticking by the seconds until all you could hear around you was his heavy breathing at your side as he slept easily mixing with the heavy thunking of rain against your bedroom windows as it torrented down, bringing loud claps of thunder with it. You didn't even register anything, even as you sat up and brought your legs out of the bed and onto the floor, rising softly as something in your brain guided you, kept you from waking him.

You looked down at him, sleeping in the bed, smirk on his face even in slumber. Turning your head away from him, you padded softly out of your bedroom and down the hall to the balcony off the top floor of your large house. It was a main selling point when you and him had first bought this house, a madly in love couple just five years ago. It gave you a fantastic view. And even though the house had turned out to be much more of a fixer-upper than the realtor had ever let on, you'd never dreamed of giving up that home because of that view that you'd come to love so much.

That same view did nothing to you now as you stepped out on to the balcony, heavy rain already lashing at you. You barely even registered it, it brought you no happiness anymore. Nothing brought you happiness anymore. You didn't care about the rain as it poured down, soaking you and plastering your hair against your head and across your face. The thunder you'd used to be so frightened of didn't produce a single thrill in you and you couldn't have said, if asked, if you were cold though your body shivered in the cold night and your breath hung in the air.

Your feet guided you farther and farther out onto the balcony until you came to the railing. Resting your hands on it, you stared down at the weathered wood for a minute or two, running your finger over a spot. A heart had been crudely engraved there, a set of initials in the middle of it. You'd engraved it there one night, you remembered, on a sudden whim. Daemon had laughed when he saw it, mocked you about it for a week afterwards though he'd also kissed you after seeing it, taking you right up on the balcony that same night, right at the spot where that heart was carved.

Blinking, you stopped rubbing that spot, shutting your eyes for a second with a small smile at the remembrance of happier times. Using the railing as leverage, you swung first one, then both legs over the railing, turning so that your back faced the railing, your hands barely holding onto the wet, slippery wood. You stared down at the ground so far below. It was muddy and wet but it was solid, that you could tell. A feeling of vertigo rushed in on you, causing you to tighten your grip for a second. Your smile grew larger and you actually laughed, something you couldn't remember doing for years now. You'd been living without thoughts or feelings for too long now, trapped in this obsessive, unhealthy love that you couldn't escape. You'd drowned in his love for you and yours had disappeared long ago, that you knew.

You'd become a zombie, bound to his will with no way to break the spell. Except this. This would free you, this was your only choice left and for the first time in a long time, it was you choosing something, not him. This was your choice and the sudden exhilaration you felt at this realization made you laugh even louder as you released your hold on the railing and took another step forward, your eyes closing of their own accord.

You kept your eyes closed, having no wish to see the ground below you ever again and gave your body over to the feeling of hurtling through the air, falling at a hundred and twenty miles an hour towards an all too solid ground, your half-crazed laughter still coming in laboured bursts. It almost felt like flying, you reflected. Oh god, you'd always wanted to fly. When you were little, you remembered in a sharp burst of memory, you'd watch the birds for hours on end, wishing and praying every night that God might give you wings like them so that you could take flight and go all over the world. Now you were flying all right, just without the wings. Your mind prepared itself for the impact it was sure was coming soon.

But there was no impact, no matter how long you waited. Pretty soon, even the exhilarating feeling of free-falling left you and, confused, you cracked open your eyes and stared into bottomless blue eyes. Daemon's eyes. A tear slipped out of the corner of your eye and your face contorted into one of horrified sadness as his smirk grew. You didn't fight, didn't speak, didn't do anything but cry as he slipped an arm around you and curled you into him, cuddling you onto his chest.

"Now, you didn't think I'd actually let you jump, did you?" he said with a mocking laugh as his hand bit into your flesh. You lay there silently still, not reacting, sobbing silently.

"You're mine, aren't you? Didn't you tell me you loved me? Didn't you swear you'd love me always?" he asked more persistently and your auto-pilot took over, your head nodding and your voice robotically reciting your love.

"You're mine then," he assured you. "_Forever_."


	22. Shot Twenty Two : Belphegor

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or any of its characters or the song Delia by Blind Willie McTell.

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**SHOT TWENTY-TWO : DELIA {BELPHEGOR}  
**

_{Kenny's in the basement, drinking from a silver cup  
Delia's in the graveyard, never come back up  
Kenny said to judge, "What's the fuss about?  
Just that no good woman trying to put me out"}_

Nobody left him, it was just a fact. It didn't happen. He'd left lots of people behind in his wake, groveling meat-sacks bloodied, gases bloating their mutilated corpses. They'd all ceased to be of amusement to the Prince at some point and so they'd had to be thrown away like yesterday's toys that had gotten dull and boring. But nobody had ever left him. Besides you. You and your whorish heart had gone to the wind far before he was ready to be done with you and you better believe that rankled him.

But you'd forgotten, or just hadn't cared about his prestige and his genius. You'd been stupid and naïve to think he'd let you get away so easily. He'd kept tabs on you as soon as you reappeared, biding his time before he popped back in on you. Paris, London, New Orleans, Hong Kong...you traveled extensively, never staying too long in one place. He liked to think it was because you were afraid of him finding you again, though that certainly didn't stop you from bedding down anything with a dick between its legs. You were always such a fucking slut. It was one of the many things he'd detested about you.

Florence now, that was where you were and where he was. You'd ventured too close to home, gotten cocky, arrogant, like the damned brat you were you'd gotten stupid and impulsive. Last night, your hotel with two pathetic, drugged up slobs – he'd watched you from the window of his hotel room across the street. You had no shame – going at it without the windows covered, letting anyone with a view see it all. Those were two men who hadn't made it home the next morning. He wondered with a titter whether their bodies had been found yet. Yours though, yours would definitely be found.

Nightclub tonight – you just leaving, some hoity toity old bastard on your arm. Him, following you from afar, stalking over rooftops with the agility he'd always been known for. There, into the hotel you went. He knew your room-number; he'd had no trouble persuading the night clerk to give him an extra key two nights ago. Her face would never look the same. The door was just closing as he stepped out of the elevator onto your floor and the both of you were already in the bedroom when he opened the hotel room door, gently so it wouldn't make a sound, footsteps silent as they approached the bedroom.

Your lover of the night was dead, six knifes through the throat as he drove inside you. You barely recognized what was happening until he collapsed, dead and bloody onto you.

And then you'd seen him, giggling manically in the doorway and you'd shoved your lover, for lack of a better word off you with a piercing scream before trying to run into the bathroom.

"Jesus Christ…" fell off your rouged lips as you fled. But he was faster and the blood bubbling up and out of your open mouth cut off the words as he slit his throat.

Nobody ever left the Prince. It wasn't allowed. You'd been foolish, you'd paid the cost. The rules were simple and resolute.

Your bodies were found the next morning, he noted from his hotel room. The buzz of cops and newspaper reporters surrounding the hotel amused him. A famous director and some two-bit whore brutally murdered – what a scoop for those pathetic peasants out there. He recognized on of the detectives as the man strolled into the hotel, policemen crowding around him. He'd paid the slob off earlier this week. Bribery, lies, and cover-ups were nothing new to either of them.

Omerta, dear, what a beautiful thing.


	23. Shot Twenty Three : Squalo Superbi

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, Squalo Superbi (however OOC he might be here), or the song Not Strong Enough To Say No by Blackhawk.

* * *

_

**SHOT TWENTY-THREE : NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO SAY NO {SQUALO SUPERBI}**

_{The sign says "Do Not Touch" - you're out of bounds  
You're forbidden fruit, don't come around  
It says don't make plans 'cause on your hand  
Is a promise made to another man}_

Through it all, there had been only you. And that was right, that was the way it was meant to be and the way it should be. He'd accepted that fact long ago, though it had been after a lot of struggling with his feelings and a lot of trying to get you to go away. After all, Squalo Superbi was mysterious, haughty, arrogant, a lone wolf, better than everyone else. At least, those had been the rumor flooding the stupid Mafia school he'd attended within a few days of his arrival there. Not that you'd ever cared about any rumors – or maybe you did, maybe you'd had an insane urge to prove them wrong. Whatever it was though, you'd been the only one to continually try to make friends with him. You'd sit by him in the cafeteria, despite him threatening to hack you to pieces or just getting up and leaving you sitting there by yourself like a moron. You'd walk with him in the halls, always keeping up a steady stream of banter. You'd sit next to him in class; try to catch him walking home so you could walk with him. And somewhere along the way, he'd stop complaining quite as much (only by a smidgen though – he had a reputation to protect though and if he wasn't threatening you at least once a day, people might actually start to think he was _nice_.) Somewhere along the way, he'd accepted the fact that you just weren't going to go away and now he accepted the fact that he hadn't wanted you to go away.

In fact, he'd been the one to leave you. He'd defeated Tyr, he had a spot in the Varia, he no longer had need of the school or, he had told you, of you. You, as usual, hadn't listened to his rude words and he remembered that goodbye even now. How you'd tried unsuccessfully to keep the tears at bay and when he'd _(screamed at)_ asked you what the matter was, you'd just thrown your arms around him and held onto him for dear life while sniffling out a pathetic sounding 'because you're leaving and I'll miss you'. He'd shoved you off, made a rude remark about how pathetic you were but he hadn't meant it. And he'd been happy when you told him you'd write him lots and lots.

And you didn't disappoint. Of course, it had been a bit of a nuisance keeping other Varia members away from his mail or from making fun of him for your weekly letters but after a few one on one fights with him, everyone had just been smart enough to stop mentioning it. If only you knew how much he'd look forward to those letters, how much they got him through. They were always stupid – they were from you after all, all rambled and written sporadically, updates on your life and everything in it along with questions of his and little recounts of memories past that you both shared. He'd complained in every return letter – telling you to stop fucking writing already, geez woman you're getting on my nerves – but you'd never let it get to you and sure enough, eight letters were written a month, four on your side, four on his.

But not even letters made up for the fact that you two were a far way apart, not just in distance but in mentality. He hadn't known what he'd been thinking all along. Maybe he was the stupid one here for thinking that you'd ever wanted anything more than a friendship, for _(hoping_) thinking that you'd stay out there forever just waiting for him to be ready for some sort of relationship with you. But whether he was stupid or not, what he'd been thinking was all wrong. At least, it was according to the crumpled up letter in his clenched fist.

That letter went unanswered, though it was carefully uncrumpled and hidden away with the rest of your letters in the back of his closet. All future letters were thrown away without being read. The wedding invitation sent in the mail had been hacked to pieces and then burned. He couldn't write back, he couldn't talk to you, and he definitely couldn't see you. He had no idea what he'd do if he ever had to see a ring on your finger, had to meet the lucky bastard whose ring you'd have on your fingers. No...he did have an idea. He'd go crazy. You were supposed to be his. You would've been, if life had happy endings. But life wasn't a fairy-tale and there were no happy endings for villains like him.


	24. Shot Twenty Four : Skull

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, Skull, or the song Hurt (which by the way, this was inspired by the Johnny Cash cover version).

* * *

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**SHOT TWENTY-FOUR : HURT {SKULL}**

_{what have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
everyone I know  
goes away in the end}_

The syringe was held loosely between your fingers; it drummed lightly against your knee in a nervous rhythm. You shouldn't have it, shouldn't be doing this. You'd promised. But you needed it, god you needed it so badly. You couldn't function without it, you knew that now. Oh fuck, it was hell without it. Your body was shivering so bad, you felt cold all the time now. How long had it been since you'd last felt it coursing its way through your veins, taking all your troubles with it?

Too long. Much too long.

But you'd promised.

Your gaze flew across the roof, never staying in one place. Every muscle of your body moved. You couldn't sit still, you felt restless all the time; upset, restless and angry was all you'd been feeling. You couldn't sleep, you couldn't focus, you hated everyone and everything. It would take it all away, it always did.

But you'd promised.

Your eyes shifted down to the syringe, stopping for too long on your track-marked arms. You shouldn't do this. Look at what it had done to you already – how much it had taken from you, how marked up it had left you. It was a friend, yes, your only friend for so long but it was a friend that couldn't be trusted, a friend that would lead you astray and bring you down. But it was also a friend who sent you soaring so high, took you so many wonderful places. Was the high worth the low here? What would it give you next? Better yet, what would it take from you next?

You already knew the answer to that. This was your last time. He couldn't deal with this anymore, he needed you to get clean, not only for him but for you. He couldn't watch you throw your life away.

But you needed it. But you needed him. Which one should you choose?

And then, as if the devil had summoned him there just to screw with you some more, there he was, standing at the doorway and staring at you. No, not at you. Staring at the syringe, at the load of heroin in it with wide violet eyes. That look of pain on his face cut your heart in two, that look of betrayal on his face mangled your soul, and the sight of his back as he walked away burned into your mind. He wouldn't be back for a next time, for another chance.

And in it slid, plunger pushed down, drug shooting into veins and flooding your body. It would make you forget, even for a while.

Because you needed it more than him.


	25. Shot Twenty Five : Hibari

_A/N: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, Hibari, or the song Got To Be More Careful by Jon Cleary. Also, this little shot only came about because I've been told I don't write enough Hibari stuff. And I think it proves why - I can't write Hibari worth a spit.

* * *

_

**SHOT TWENTY FIVE : GOT TO BE MORE CAREFUL {HIBARI}**

_{Got to be more careful when you walk the street alone  
Cos hiding in the shadows might be the devil you don't know}_

Yawning as you readjusted the books in your arms, trying to get a better grip on them, you stepped out of the warm, brightly lit library into the cool darkness of the night. Your headphones were on, blaring out some happy-go-lucky bubblegum pop anthem. You needed something to lift your spirits after the bad day you'd been having. You always knew you had a problem with procrastination but you never did anything to fix it and now look how you ended up – two days until a major report had to be handed in, worth twenty-five percent of your final grade, and you hadn't even started it or decided on a topic yet. Thankfully the library had a ton of books in it to help you brainstorm and in the three or four hours you'd spent in there tonight you'd not only decided on a topic but had managed to check out an armload of books that should, hopefully, help you get this report thrown together in record time.

You hadn't realized you'd spend so much time in there though. The sky above you was inky black, not even a star to mar the stygian view. It had been so cloudy today and the clouds had carried over to the night. Rain coming, that was for sure. Not that you minded the darkness, you rather liked it in fact. You'd never been afraid of the dark, not even as a child and had no qualms about walking in it. The walk wasn't overly long, only about fifteen minutes, and Namimori was a safe town. You had nothing to worry about. And, of course, you had your music to make your walk just that much better.

Unfortunately, that music you so cherished was the same thing that kept you from hearing the footsteps behind you, the ones that started shortly after you left the library and stopped whenever you stopped. If you would have heard them, you probably wouldn't have felt near as safe as you did. As it was, you were doing well to feel as safe as you did for as long as you did.

About five minutes into your walk, you took the shortcut you did every time you walked home. You'd found out about a month ago that taking the alley in behind the cake shop cut two whole streets out of your route and got you home quite a bit quicker. You'd been taking it ever since with no problems and despite the fact the alley was dark, with nary a streetlight around to brighten it up, you didn't think twice about walking into it.

That changed though when you felt someone grab your arm, wheeling you around as another set of hands swatted at your arms, knocking the books down to the ground. Your heartbeat grew faster and fear started to flood its way through your system as you looked around you. Five, you counted, five men, all bigger than you and all wearing the same shit-eating grins on their faces. In a blink of an eye, your headphones were snapped off your ears, breaking in the process and the hands on your arm tightened to the point of causing you pain.

"Hey baby…" the man holding you so tightly slurred out. You could practically taste the rancid smell of too much liquor pouring off him and gagged. "Don't you know you shouldn't be walking out here alone?"

You couldn't think of anything to say. What did you say to a drunken man who held you so tightly that you felt your arm was about to break, one whose drunken cronies were circling around the two of you and reminding you of vultures? You just shook your head, hoping your fear didn't show in your face.

"No…well, I think someone should teach you that lesson, don't you? And me and the boys here…we're real good teachers."

You were confused for a moment. What the hell did this guy mean? Were these guys muggers? Were they going to beat you up and take your stuff? Hell, they could have it, you didn't care. As long as you got out of there alright, you'd happily give them everything you got.

It was only when one of the other men stepped up behind you, his hands planting themselves between your legs and pressing up roughly did you get what they meant. Oh god, did it ever click then. And you started screaming bloody murder, hoping and praying to every god you'd ever heard of that there was someone around to hear you. Oh please, please, please, someone, anyone, help!

You shut your eyes and kept screaming, even as you felt a sharp pain blossoming along the side of your face from a fist hitting you, even as the hand around your arm tightening and you heard a sharp crack (which you would later find out was from a fractured wrist).

Prayers worked – at least for once. Noises, sounds of a scuffle. You screamed through them all until you opened your eyes. All five were down, unconscious or groaning in puddles of their own blood. And in the middle, there was him.

Your books were shoved roughly at you and you did your best to hold them one-armed, fumbling slightly as you stared at him.

"Hibari-san?"

He didn't even spare a glance your way. "You're disrupting the peace of Namimori. Don't let it happen again."

He was already walking away before you could think of anything to say. It didn't help that he scared you half to death in the first place.

"Thank you, Hibari-san," you said softly before turning and running towards home.

He smirked, throwing a casual glance over his shoulder at your retreating figure and the groaning, unmoving bodies on the alleyway ground. What an _eventful_ night.


End file.
